Page 16 of Galactic Sentinels, Vol. 1 (Chronicles of Pherebos #1)

I try to find the trap. There has to be one. But honestly, I don’t have many options left. The last time I trusted someone, it was a madman who ended up killing my sister. I’m not exactly known for making great life choices.

But right now, I just want to avoid more pain. More fighting.

“All right,” I whisper, and nod.

“Okay, let’s get moving. I’ll try to lift you without hurting you too much, but I can’t promise it won’t sting.”

“Pherebos? You’re not messing with me, are you?”

“Yeah, in the flesh, baby. ”

“Pherebos?” I say again, this time looking directly at Wingo. “I think I’ve lost it. I can hear your adorable animal talking in my head!”

A dazzling smile lights up Pherebos’s face—if that’s even possible.

“Really? Are you serious?” he says, turning to Wingo. “Wingo, have you been talking to Ileana?”

Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. He’s going to think I’m crazy.

“Well, consider yourself lucky then!” he says with a grin.

“Wingo’s a telepath. And apart from me, you’re the first person he’s ever spoken to directly.

But hey—don’t go blabbing about it, okay?

We haven’t exactly advertised that little detail.

And for the record, don’t call him an animal.

He’s my travel companion. Honestly, I’d even call him a friend. ”

What an extraordinary situation.

“You’re not exactly dressed for surviving three days in the wilderness,” Pherebos says, his tone gentle but firm. “I’m going to carry you back to my ship. Try not to scream, even if it hurts. We don’t want to draw attention.”

He warned me, but when he slides his left arm under my legs and pulls me against his chest—pressing my broken shoulder into his torso—I can’t help but let out a muffled cry. He quickly looks away and starts walking.

Branches, shrubs, and thorny bushes scrape against us as we move, but Pherebos follows Wingo, who trots ahead like he knows exactly where we’re going .

It feels like we’ve been walking for hours before Pherebos finally slows down and opens a ramp to a small spaceship.

Once inside, he speaks aloud.

“SIL, that’s me. Any information you’d like to pass on to me?”

A standard metallic voice responds, “Welcome aboard, SIL. What can I do for you?”

“I’ll take care of our guest and give you instructions later.”

The ship’s interior is compact. To the left, I spot a two-person cockpit.

To the right, there’s an open space where Wingo heads straight for a closed partition.

He activates the control with his little trunk, and Pherebos follows him inside.

I recognize the layout—it’s a standard hygiene area, common in Confederation ships.

Wingo flips down a removable stool from the wall, and Pherebos gently sets me on it.

“I’ll tell you what,” he says. “I can grab you an energy bar before you hop in the shower. Or the other way around. I also need to disinfect your wounds. Then I’ll lay you down with Wingo in his bunk so the Confederation only picks up one heat signature.

Don’t worry, it won’t be for long—just enough to get you out of here. ”

“I’ll happily give you my bunk for the rest of the trip—I can sleep on the floor!” Wingo offers cheerfully.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” I murmur. But then it hits me—I’m going to be alone with this man, who’s clearly much stronger than I am, and his... adorable companion .

“Well,” Pherebos says, “since you’re shivering from cold and exhaustion, I think a shower comes first. I’ll make you some hot soup.”

I nod, but inside, I’m panicking. I’m down to my underwear, a torn night tunic that reeks after three days on the run, and a pair of sandals.

Pherebos seems to realize the same thing. He looks away, clearly embarrassed. A moment later, he returns with a large white shirt—his own.

“Here,” he says, holding it out. “Something to change into after your shower. Just leave your things on the floor—I’ll wash them later.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, as both of them respectfully turn their backs and leave the hygiene room.

After a long, difficult effort, I finally manage to undress and step into the shower. As always on a spaceship, time is limited. I wash quickly but thoroughly, focusing on my wounds. I would’ve traded my next meal just to stay under that hot water a little longer.

I get why Pherebos doesn’t have the same access to water as the Governor. And when I think about the price I paid just to get this far...

Drying off and getting dressed is just as complicated as undressing was. I give up trying to get my left arm through the sleeve pretty quickly. The shirt is oversized, so I just tuck my injured arm against my torso and slide my good arm through the right sleeve.

Pherebos’s shirt is big, but it only reaches halfway down my thighs. I put my dirty underwear back on—I can’t bring myself to walk around without it in front of a stranger.

In the main room, Pherebos has set up a small table and two fold-out stools. He gestures for me to sit.

“ You look better! How are you feeling?” Wingo adds, his voice echoing gently in my mind.

“Better, thank you,” I reply.

Pherebos gives me a strange look, then glances at Wingo, then back at me. He shrugs, like he’s not sure what just happened but decides not to question it.

Pherebos hands me a bowl of rehydrated soup. I cradle it in my hands and drink it slowly at first, savoring the warmth that spreads through my chest. It’s the first real comfort I’ve felt in days.

But hunger takes over. I finish the bowl in just a few moments, completely forgetting I’m not alone.

When I finally look up, I find both of them staring at me. My cheeks flush with embarrassment. I must’ve looked like a starving animal. But before I can say anything, Wingo is already trotting over, holding out a nutrition bar with his long, claw-like proboscis.

Wingo really is full of surprises.

Pherebos has already moved to the cockpit. He looks focused, ready to take off.

“The course is set for BN-35,” announces the AI—but this time, the voice is different. It’s no longer the neutral metallic tone from earlier. Now it sounds human. Feminine. Warm, even .

“BN-35?” I blurt out, panic rising in my chest. “That’s Henri’s old base. There’s a good chance he’s warned every Confederation outpost about me!”

“Don’t worry,” Pherebos says calmly. “It’s a decoy. SILMAR—my AI—is heading there for now, but she’ll change course before we get close. It’s just to cover our tracks in case anyone checks the flight path. I’m taking you somewhere they won’t find you.”

His explanation eases some of the tension in my chest. Right now, my biggest concern is getting away from Henri. But still... what if I’ve just escaped one monster only to fall into the hands of another? How would I even know?

“Let’s just get going, shall we?” Pherebos says, turning toward the back. “Wingo, show Ileana your bunk and lie down with her. I’ll confirm once we pass the control scan.”

I watch our furry companion activate the opening mechanism of the port-side cabin berth. I’ve never slept in a berth like this before. The cabins on BN-35 were small, sure—but not this cramped.

“You’ll get the hang of it in no time!” Wingo says encouragingly.

I settle onto the bunk. Even without bedding, it’s surprisingly soft. Wingo climbs in right after me and stretches out to his full length, pressing himself firmly against my side. His warmth is immediate and grounding.

Pherebos watches us with a critical eye.

“We’re not bad,” he says. “Ileana, could you wrap your arms around Wingo’s body so they connect with his torso? And try to align your legs with his paws. I’ll close the drawer and we’ll get this done.

I do exactly as I’m told, even burying my head beneath his. Wingo’s body is soft and warm, and without thinking, I run my hand gently through his fur. I pause when I feel him twitch.

“Oh, not there—your hands! That tickles!” he chuckles in my head.

“Sorry!” I whisper, pulling my hand back.

Pherebos speaks up from the cockpit. “We’re approaching the portal to exit Jaga.”

This is it. The moment of truth. I wonder—could this really be my chance to escape Henri for good?